


Easy, love

by Xaverri



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaverri/pseuds/Xaverri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set somewhere around The Resistance era, but could be any time, really.<br/>Matt has difficulties coping with the responsibilities that come with the life of a famous rock star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy, love

**Author's Note:**

> I strongly suggest listening to this song as it was the sole inspiration for this little fic. It's by a band called Saybia and called "It's OK love". You can find it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QO62LxH3H6E).

_'caught in a well between heaven and hell_  
 _it's getting lonely out here'_  
  
It tends to get too much, sometimes.  
  
Each one of us has had this before, a number of times, in the last decade. Feelings of insecurity, depression or sadness threaten to overwhelm, for no apparent reason. Our hectic life creates a tired and jumbled mess of our heads and it suddenly rears up and kicks you hard in the gut.  
  
"I just can't do this any more."  
  
Be it the overbearing sense of loneliness; missing the ones closest to them, even though throughout the years we have created our own version of family.  
  
Be it the building annoyances and irritation of said family; never quite able to gain the privacy one requires ever so often. Especially when on tour, our connection evolving into a twisted, three-part marriage; can’t live with them, can't live without them.  
  
 _'highways and hotels and headliner shows_  
 _it's all just making me sad'_  
  
For me, it's the responsibility.  
  
At the beginning of yet another massive show, when I walk around giving directions, answering queries and picking up my guitars for the last sound-check, I get hit by this grand weight bearing down on my shoulders, sporadically. I stop to look around at one point and realise how many people are working for us. I will take in the organised chaos surrounding me; industrious like ants, busy like bees, and it will suddenly hit me that it is _me_  that is responsible for all these people.  
  
Melodramatics aside, it will take something as small as a simple cold, a strained ankle or a cut to my fingers to have to cancel a show. And at times like this, where I somehow refuse to halt the path my thoughts are leading to, I can't help but to dive deeper and cynically ask myself what more I could destroy, all by myself.  
  
I reminisce about my reckless days, filled with experimental drugs and unprotected sex; who knows what kind of slumbering diseases I have picked up over the years that can start manifesting itself at any present time? How many lives will I be able to send into chaos if for some reason I just can't continue my line of work? My first thoughts always go to Chris and his wonderful family, then to Glen’s and Tom's. From there it is a lost cause for my mind to get a grip, it envisions the dozens of families of our touring crew and the people back home that work their arses off each day to get a show like this, to get Muse, on the road and keep us there.  
  
Before I am aware of it I end up turned into myself and can do nothing but repeat the same thoughts in my head; how careful I have to be, how stupid I have been in the past, how undeserving my persona is of all this and how ungrateful I find myself acting towards everyone for it.  
  
 _'sorry if I ever let you down, I never meant to_  
 _stayed inside the only world I know, 'till I forgot'_  
  
I'm an egotistical bastard, and I know it. I take him for granted and I am aware of it. Yet this doesn't stop me from hurting him, dragging him down with me when I get stuck into depression like this.  
  
He suggests strolling through the city of our current location to take my mind off stuff, and I tell him I'm not interested. He invites me to join dinner together with Chris and Tom before the gig starts, and I say I'm not hungry. He asks me to come out and party with the crew afterwards, but I decline and move to retreat to my hotel room.  
  
This time he stops me, his hand closing around my elbow, and I freeze.  
  
"You know that it won't help if you hide like this, Matt."  
  
Something snaps inside me, I yank my arm out of his grip and swirl around to face him. Sneering, I reply in a low voice.  
  
"What is it with you and wanting to _help_  me all the time?"  
  
I spit out the word that has set me off, making him veer back in surprise, an eyebrow lifting, unimpressed at my outburst but I'm not done yet.  
  
"I've bloody _had it_  with you, always at my back, trying to push me to do things I am just _not_  interested in! Everywhere I turn _you_ are there! Just leave me the fuck _alone_  for once!"  
  
I see a flicker of hurt pass in his grey eyes before it's gone and he steels his expression, looking thoroughly disappointed. I do not wait for his reply and continue my planned escape to the hotel's elevators, undisturbed this time.  
  
I cannot help but feel a sick amount of glee at the brief pain I've inflicted on him, maliciously grinning as I wait for the doors to open. Once they do, I enter and press for my floor, slumping against the wall. The dark thoughts of this day return to replace the tiny amount of victory I feel and a nagging thought scratches the inside of my mind. While the cart moves up, I realise how much of a hypocrite I am turning into; instead of taking my responsibility in stride, I turn around and hurt the exact ones that I'm feeling responsible for.  
  
 _'that nothing is as beautiful as when I am with you_  
 _and life isn't life out there, without you here'_  
  
Back in my hotel room -alone like I wished- the full weight of the depression bears down on me. I fall on the bed, stomach down, and bury my face in the soft pillow, groaning softly. I suddenly feel ridiculous for acting towards him the way I did. I've felt like this before and he's always been the one to pull me out of it. It's stupid to not only deny his efforts but turn around and blame _him_  for making me feel shit.  
  
Great, not only am I feeling more down than I've done in years, but now I've also alienated the only one capable of saving me from myself.  
  
He's probably out now, parading around in those ridiculously tight skinnies of him in whatever high-society club Glen has arranged for us to hold our after-party at, flashing his pearly-whites at the crowds of ladies whom hope for a bit of attention from his magnetic presence.  
  
Where have those days gone? Where we were each other’s wingman, partners in crime on the battlefield of one-night-stands, counting our victories to see who was crowned 'King of the Hill' for that night?  
  
I wonder if he's pairing off with Tom now, although, despite my old friend's best efforts, he won't offer Dom the challenge that I used to. Will Chris look at them with the same expression as he gave the two of us? Partly amused, partly disgusted, slightly jealous?  
  
I punch the cushion weakly and push myself on my side to look out the window from my position on the hotel bed, startled to see the beauty of the full moon staring back at me unexpectedly. My mind grants me no reprieve, however, as it returns to the faces of the crew I've regarded from the top of the stage, my unintended throne. Why can I not even make myself take the time to get to know these people better? Sum up the tiniest bit of interest? We say we try to treat our crew with the utmost respect, but how can you respect something unknown to you?  
  
Tonight could've been my chance for redemption, the after-party set up especially for our crew to enjoy. Everyone would've been there and I could've taken my time and have a chat with all of them. Find out who they are, what they enjoy in life, their views and morals, anything to change the nameless faces they are in my mind.  
  
 _'just when I thought there was nobody out there_  
 _no one who quite understood me'_  
  
Studying the surface of the moon; the craters and scars more clear than I’ve ever seen before -because of our equatorial position- the heaviness of being all alone finally breaks down my walls. I feel the salty liquid drip slowly from my eyes but I refuse to acknowledge it, stubbornly keeping my gaze on the now blurry ivory disc outside.  
  
I am furious at my weakness; I should be out to make amends to both the crew and my mates -Dominic in particular- and not lie here like a sulking adolescent feeling like no one in the world understands me. But my entire being works against me, the need to let it all out for one night too strong to control and the tears start falling at a faster pace.  
  
I finally close my eyes and a quiet sob escapes me as I try to breathe in deeply to get myself under control again. It is to no avail, the flow of tears unstoppable.  
  
Just when I am about to acknowledge the emotion by reaching up my free arm to wipe my face dry, the mattress dips behind me and the hand is halted in its journey upwards by another.  
  
 _'I glanced to the side and I found you there smiling_  
 _patiently holding my hand'_  
  
I turn my head slightly, glancing behind me to spot his familiar figure sitting beside me from the corner of my eyes; I am both surprised, yet not at all.  
  
Not surprised because he is the only one I would've expected entering my room as he's habitually the guardian of my spare key, wherever we are. I tend to loose mine periodically and am capable of forgetting completely about it, courtesy of my frantic mind, until I am faced with an unrelenting hotel door.  
  
Surprised, though, because I had truly expected him to be at the party, by now. Not only because he _does_  have a proper way of handling with his responsibility towards the crew, but foremost because of my behaviour towards him earlier; normally he does not take kindly to my temper tantrums and chooses to ignore me until one of us is tired of it and breaks the silence in quiet apology or forgiveness, then go on like nothing ever happened.  
  
This is new. In all the years that we've been friends, he has never taken my hand like he is holding it now, his grip is firm but gentle and his thumb is softly stroking the back of it. He has witnessed me cry before, and vice versa, but nothing different from a reassuring pat on the back or a solid, friendly embrace as means of comfort, has ever occurred before.  
  
I turn on my back to look up at him fully. His understanding smile is rendering me mute, the flow of tears only increasing when a wave of grateful relief washes over me. Relief at him being here, not being mad at me, understanding.  
  
I try to breathe in deeply once more but it’s ragged, and it becomes impossible for me to hold back the sobs that lie just below the thin surface of control I have left. He moves up to sit down next to my pillow, propping himself up against the headboard, never letting go of my gaze and then tugs my hand towards him, opening up his arms in warm invitation.  
  
 _'saying over and over: “it's ok, love”_  
 _“easy, love, I'm here”'_  
  
Like a child to its mother, I move into the embrace and he lets go of my hand to envelop me fully. The dam breaks completely as the last sliver of control is whisked away by him hugging me, and I allow my inner sorrow to flood me. My arms circle his slim waist and he tightens his' around me in silent answer, keeping me from utterly falling apart. Heavy sobs wreck my body and the tears create a wet patch on his shirt but his head moves down to nuzzle my forehead reassuringly, leaving me without defence as my cries turn louder, letting go of all my instinctual inhibitions.  
  
He holds me like this for as long as it takes me to pour out my pent up emotions, stroking my back firmly in time with the tremors coursing through my body.  
  
His gentle swaying starts to soothe me, his hushed whispers calming me down to a point where I am capable of breathing a bit more regular again. I do not know why he uses the endearment, but I like the sound of it. His voice, so much more articulate and easy on the ears as my own high-pitched ramblings is working its magic in bringing me out of the pit I had fallen in.  
  
I sigh deeply; the embarrassment that I expected to rise about now blissfully absent as nothing but relieved contentment takes over. I shuffle a bit higher, one hand leaving his waist to position against his chest, fingering the soaked material there.  
  
"Sorry about that," I whisper, the words intended to envelop more than his ruined shirt.  
  
"It's okay, love," He repeats once more, and I know he understands.  
  
I lay my head on his shoulder and nuzzle his throat, taking in the mixture of familiar, pleasant scents that make up Dom. One of his hands leave the position on my back and run through the hairs on the back of my head, massaging my scalp tenderly. The unfamiliar feeling of his strong fingers there relaxes me even more and I close my eyes and exhale another sigh against his throat.  
  
He shivers, and I smile against the soft skin, thinking my breath must've tickled him.  
  
My eyes shoot wide open, as the hand holding my head softly presses my lips to his throat in an almost undetectable gesture. My ear leaning on his shoulder picks up the unexplainable increase of his heart-rate; pounding the blood through his veins loudly. He draws shaky breaths that make me think for a moment that he is crying, so I pull my head out of his gentle grip and raise up a bit to look at him.  
  
What I find, however, is not tears or sorrow, but something completely different.  
  
Dom is staring straight at me, his grey orbs darkened with love and lust. He searches my face, lingers on my lips and then moves back to my eyes again. When I fail to react -stunned as I am by this major turn of events- I can see the lustful gaze turn into panic. His eyes grow impossibly large when he realises I've caught on and he struggles to breathe in. When he drops his arms from around me, I finally snap out of it, aware of his urge to let go of me so he can escape.  
  
I give him no chance to do so; using both arms to embrace his waist firmly -once more- I place my head back on his shoulder, willing him to stay without words.  
  
I am thoroughly confused but I do not wish for him to run, or even to stop embracing me. All at once it hits me; I do not want him to leave me alone again.  
  
Ever again?  
  
 _'so finally I'm ready to reveal what my heart tells me_  
 _bring out all that's good inside of me, and let it shine'_  
  
I have never understood myself as clearly as I do now; lying here in his arms, I am feeling more confident and free of doubts than ever before in my life. I'm taken aback by the sudden impact of this realisation; the partnership that I've secretly been looking for all my life, that one person with whom I could share the heavy pain of responsibility, that close connection where I would be understood in the way I so desperately crave, it has always been right here under my nose.  
  
For a tiny moment I am angry; how dare he keep this hidden for me? How long has he been feeling like this, trembling under my unrelenting hold? The spiralling stairway that is my mind is finally put to a halt as he breaks the unbearable silence.  
  
"Matt, say something. For fucks' sake, I can't stand this."  
  
I can't help but grin, and I decide to let my actions speak for me; I press my lips against the bare skin between his neck and his shoulder and I am rewarded by a sharp intake of breath from its owner. The sound of it, combined by the way his body shivers again, is pleasantly addictive to me and I kiss his neck again, and again. With soft, butterfly touches I trace the long line of his neck, up to his ear. When I reach the spot right below it, I've got him panting for air, telling me exactly how long he's been dreaming about this moment, how long he's been craving me to touch him like this, and I revel in it.  
  
My own heart surges in my throat as his arms shakily slide upwards across my spine, tracing the trail of bones up towards my neck where he grabs hold of the back of my head once again.  
  
I start licking the soft skin behind his ear, wetting my kisses. The sharp, shallow intakes of breathes he takes are beginning to stir something inside, something I would've never imagined feeling for my best friend. Not that it would have repelled me, I just never thought of it, at all, before; a testament to my so-called intelligence.  
  
I feel like an idiot for never dwelling on it but I intend to make it up to him and myself, right now.  
  
One of my arms releases his waist, confident now that he won't run as he seems to be quite enjoying my caresses. I run my hand over his side, up his chest to then slide it along his neck to mirror his position, grabbing the blond mass of hair at the back of his head. My lips start trailing a slow path from his ear to the corner of his lips and I fail to stifle a chuckle at the gasp that escapes him. His hands grab my hair and he yanks my head back forcefully, sneering at me in an expression of mixed emotions; shock, excitement, fear, lust, and... Anger.  
  
"Are you taking the piss?" he hisses, the apprehension in his eyes so very clear.  
  
I'm known for the pranks I pull on him, so I can understand his vulnerability at this moment; he's basically laying his soul bare right now. If this is a joke to me, our friendship might not recover from it.  
  
Not liking this distress in his beautiful eyes, the lust from before a much more welcome sight, I am set to bring that back. Instead of answering him straight away I make sure my face shows no hint of humour while my other hand leaves its current position to join the other at his neck. Cradling his head in my hands, I sit up on my knees beside him so I can look down upon him.  
  
My thumbs stroke the sides of his neck while I keep our eyes locked, he looks back defiantly and I have to admire the strength of his resolve. The strong pulse I feel hammering away beneath my fingers tells me how scared he is but his eyes give away nothing right now. That is, until I softly move forward, my eyes darting back and forth between his full lips and his eyes, giving him no second thoughts as to where my path is leading me.  
  
Instead of kissing him, even though I badly want to, I open my mouth and run my tongue over his bottom lip -slowly and wetly- from one corner to the other. I'm rewarded by the return of warm panting on my skin and I pull back again to see the lust in his eyes conquering all the other, fleeting, emotions.  
  
I keep my mouth close to his', his hot, moist breath on my lips turning me on insanely. Finally I answer him, in a soft, but steady voice.  
  
 _'knowing that I'll never be alone, while I'm with you_  
 _and life isn't life out there, without you here'_  
  
I tell him I've never been more sure of anything before. I tell him I need him, always have needed him and that this life is worth nothing without him by my side, like he always has been.  
  
I want to tell him more; how stupid I have been for not realising sooner and how sorry I am, but apparently he has heard enough. He pulls my lips forcefully down on his' and it drowns out all hectic and jumbled thoughts in my mind, leaving only one blissful emotion; _love._  
  
 _'just when I thought there was nobody out there, no one who quite understood me_  
 _I glanced to the side and I found you there smiling, patiently holding my hand_  
  
 _saying over and over; "It's ok, love"_  
 _"easy, love, I'm yours"'_


End file.
